


Lapdog

by Vituperative_cupcakes



Category: Swimming with Sharks (1994)
Genre: Anal Sex, Coercion, Dominance, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Play, The Bad Guy Wins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vituperative_cupcakes/pseuds/Vituperative_cupcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What, are you Buddy’s lapdog or something?”<br/>Dawn didn’t know how deep that question dug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lapdog

After all he’d been through, the humiliation, the route sadism, the blowjob still came as a surprise.

“Wh…what?”

Buddy cocked his head and smiled that I’m-a-bastard-but-don’t-you-want-to-impress-me grin of his.

“Do I have to fetch a translator or do you, contrary to popular perception, speak English?”

“I-I-I didn’t know you were…” was he? The Guy was obviously swimming in choice poontang, though obviously it was less about the fuck than the power. Maybe it was all just a very, very, very elaborate cover, and Buddy was Hollywood’s next Liberace.

And maybe Spike Lee would direct a remake of Magnificent Ambersons.

“Will I lose my job if I don’t do this?” he knows it’s a mistake a fraction of a second before it leaves his mouth, but it’s too late to take it back. Buddy’s smile ratchets up a few centimeters and he beckons  Guy over with a finger.

“Here’s the thing,” he says, and lays a fatherly hand on Guy’s shoulder. “your job is based entirely on performance. Mechanic: you spill oil? Nothing, go clean it up. Waiter? A couple of orders get shuffled around, you get a good laugh or two. But in this job—and I’m really fucking serious here—life and death fucking hinge on mistakes. You drop a memo and the earth fucking collides with the moon, do you get that? Performing is what you do, my little trained monkey, I need faxes, you say ‘how many?’ I say jump, you et cetera, et cetra, do you follow me on this?”

Guy blinked. “Is this because I forgot the ketchup in your lunch?”

Buddy sighed mightily and put a hand over his eyes. “Enough talking, just—” he gave Guy’s shoulder a little shove, “suck.”

Guy licked his lips. He flicked his fingers out as if limbering up for the parallel bars. He licked his lips again. “Okay,” he said. And: “here we go.”

He cleared his throat. “Alright.”

He looked up and wished he hadn’t. The view of Buddy’s smug smirk framed by his knees was frighteningly surreal.

“Go ahead,” Buddy says warmly, encouraging, even.

Guy had experimented somewhat in college, but gentle, timid exploration in a college dorm was lightyears away from…here.

Guy unzipped his boss with a sigh. The bastard was already half-hard. Buddy shifted from the contact, grunting in what Guy hoped was approval. Guy opened his mouth and gingerly placed the head of his boss’s cock inside. The world did not end, so he tried a few experimental slurps. That went okay. Then he tried licking and realized that he’d forgotten about the mother of all papercuts right on the broad sheath of his tongue. He made a distressed moan, which Buddy evidently took as a signal to plunge his cock even deeper. It hit the back of his throat and Guy nearly gagged. He prayed to every god available: just please don’t let me puke on my boss’s dick.

Buddy entwined his hands behind his head and relaxed deeply into the chair, sighing happily. Guy built a rhythm, hoping that was enough and he wasn’t being graded on his tongue technique. Actually, there was something pleasant about this. Buddy was calm, nothing was being thrown at him, and he was having se-…well, sex was happening, at any rate. And hey, maybe this would turn Buddy’s mood around.

When Buddy came, his entire lower torso tensed up and he gave a little grunt of exertion. Guy tried to prepare, but still found himself choking, some of the fluid dribbling down to his tie, some of it he actually swallowed.

Buddy relaxed into the chair, breathing deeply. He seemed to be realigning, as if he’d just come off a yoga session. He sat still for a moment and then sprang back into animation. The chair wheeled back behind the desk and Buddy immediately began sorting papers. Guy knelt on the carpet, tie askew, semen on his good blue shirt, wordless.

Buddy looked up. “You still here?”

“Uh,” he gulped, “uh, sir?”

Buddy cocked his head and looked quizzically at him. “Oh. Performance. Worst blowjob I’ve ever had. But, better than getting shot, I guess.”

Guy coughed involuntarily. Later, a receptionist pointed out the stain.

“Umm, cream cheese,” he lied, a flush creeping up his neck.

 

He still had Rex’s number, which he dialed in a panic that evening. Guy could hear him snort as he picked up the receiver.

“Rex. Talk to me.”

“Rex?” he stammered, unsure on how to proceed. A sigh filed the other end of the conversation.

“Drinks. Tonight,” Rex said.

 

Guy fingered his jack and coke. “Did you…did you know?

Rex rolled his shoulders. “Did you _not_? I thought everyone was aware that filmmaking was a sleazy business.”

“Yes I’d heard things, but…” Guy bit his lip.

“Mostly for chicks, rights?” Rex breathed a little chuckle as he downed his drink. “Look, you know the rules now. Keep him happy, and you’re not miserable. Trouble is, Buddy never _stays_ happy. You sink a major contract? That was so five minutes ago, what are you doing for me now? The nice thing about this is he stays happy for an extra two minutes.”

Guy evaluated the depths of his glass. “I like women,” he volunteered.

“I love pussy,” Rex said, “and I _hate_ his fucking guts. But you gotta do it. You don’t, he’ll promote someone who will. How much do you want this?”

Guy tossed and turned over the answer to that question, that night and many nights after it.

Buddy may have sensed his skittishness and avoided broaching the subject again for a while. He wasn’t any nicer than usual, but he wasn’t being meaner than usual either.  Guy, for his part, tried to pull for Buddy whenever he could. He lived and died by the look Buddy gave him when conducting some new starlet into his office, popping a wink or giving a look that said “I could’ve done better.”

Buddy told him to come by his house to “evaluate scripts.” Guy knew exactly what would really be going on.

Buddy’s house was magnificent, even for a producer’s salary, but it was all for show. He did not lead Guy around on a tour, since he was not here to be impressed, but went straight to the couch, where glasses of scotch and unstapled manuscripts already lay. Guy felt tense, reading out of one eye and watching Buddy out the other, flinching every time he reached for a drink.

To his shock, Buddy looked up. “C’mon Guy, I’m not going to hit you. Tell me what you think about this one.”

Guy had never felt so relieved to have his opinion mocked and shredded as he did that moment. Buddy was brutal, as he was at the office, but he was more playful, cajoling even. He flung out jokes on the scripts as much as he did about Guy. When they finished the bottle Buddy slapped his hands together and said he would call out for dinner.  Guy expected pizza, but what arrived was genuine Italian, replete with unpronounceable sauces and the crustiest bread imaginable.

Around one, belly no longer oppressively fully and wide awake, Guy got up to leave.

“Where you going, cowboy?” Buddy didn’t even look up from the script.

“Home,” he said, as if it were obvious.

Buddy gave him a withering look. Obviously not.

“We’re done here when we’re done here. Do you see scripts?”

Cowed, Guy meekly sat down. Buddy patted the couch beside him. “No–over here.”

Guy complied.

It was hard to concentrate as he found his focus wandering to Buddy again, trying to keep his breathing regular and keep from squawking his answers. It wasn’t fear he felt, but…excitement? Nervousness, certainly. Then Buddy looked up and Guy’s stomach churned because they had never made eye contact so close to each other and his chest was suddenly tight.

He said, “Sir?”

Buddy said, “Bed.”

Guy struggled with his tie, his shoelaces, his belt. Buddy, already stripped to a wifebeater and boxers, watched amusedly from the bed. When Guy started on his buttons, Buddy snapped, “Oh fuck’s sake, we’ll be here all night,” and tore Guys shirt open. Guy realized he had actually been waiting for something like that. It was weird. This wasn’t like college. He found himself pushing it, taking too long to slide out of his jeans. Buddy chewed on his lips and looked angrier, but there was something beneath that. Guy finally presented himself, in white briefs and nothing else, arms out for inspection.

“What, do you want a medal or something?” Buddy rolled his eyes. “Here. Now.”

Guy dropped ass first to the bed. Buddy looked off to the side as he stripped off his shirt, as if bored by the whole proceedings, but Guy could definitely see something beneath it now. Was he…shy? Embarrassed? He didn’t have a reason to be.

Guy caught that thought and filed it away under “weird shit I need to unpack later.”

Buddy’s cock wasn’t that impressive, which wasn’t a shock. It was average length, girth, and probably performance. But it was suddenly the most exciting thing Guy had seen. He tried to contain his enthusiasm as he reached for it, thinking Buddy would suspect eagerness.

Guy stopped him with a strange look in his eyes. “I didn’t tell you to do that,” he murmured.

Guy colored and flinched back. Buddy cocked his head, gaze evaluating.

“…on your hands and knees,” he said finally.

Of course he wouldn’t really be participating, Guy thought as Buddy penetrated him with a slick finger, of course this wouldn’t be sex. It was just a quick fuck. A fuck between men. Not gay at all.

Buddy lay down suddenly. “Now come here.”

Guy realized he had been asked to do something and bullied his body into motion. Buddy’s cock stuck up straight like a homing beacon. Guy stopped mid crawl.

“Will it hurt?” he asked, more of himself than Buddy.

But it was Buddy who answered. “Not a lot.” He said it almost kindly. Then: “come here, I’ll show you.”

Buddy took command of his body, gently arranging Guy into a loose framework of what he wanted, pointing him down and then easing him there. The first part of penetration hurt, not a lot, but after that it was all pressure, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. The pressure teased him with pain, and then a pang of something delicious as Buddy worked his way inside him.

“Wait,” Buddy said suddenly, “here.” He took Guy’s cheap belt and bound Guy’s wrists behind his back.

“So I know you’ll work for it,” Buddy said, traveling up Guy’s chest with the flat of his palms.

A moan escaped, taking flight before he could stifle it. Buddy looked up, slightly amused. He was almost handsome in this light. He seemed softer, gentler somehow. Guy knew that would end once they started, but for now it felt—

“You’re going to have to move,” Buddy said, affecting the no-bullshit tone of the office, “pretty much in an up and down fashion, that’s all I really need from you. But—” he directed Guy with his fingertips, “tilt your body this way while you do it, you’ll probably like it better.”

Guy took a few ragged breaths before he realized what was being asked of him. _He_ was supposed to move. Guy clumsily took initiative and raised himself up. Buddy studied him with a critical eye while he did.

Going up hadn’t touched off anything, but the return journey suddenly did. Guy repressed a whimper as his body convulsed without his permission. Buddy smiled, a little smile.

“That’s it,” he said, back to being warm again, “now keep doing it. Come on, you can do it.”

Guy, given strength by these words, found that he could. And did. And kept on doing.

Buddy kept on the narration.

“Come on, mister graduate, mister big-shot, that’s it, just like that, fuck yourself. Yeah, that’s right fuck yourself on my cock. Don’t play with it, put it back in! You want me to call you a slut or something? A tease? Is that how you get off? Ride it like you mean it.”

Guy could only moan sounds that were half-words, half-cries. Buddy’s breath was erratic as they sped up, but he never stopped goading, teasing Guy into pumping harder, faster, until he shouted and came and dug his nails into Guy’s lower back.

Guy was not sure about the etiquette of this moment, whether it would be considered rude to slide his boss’s cock from his ass or if he should wait until it softened and slid out on its own. Buddy solved the dilemma by holding his hips and wrenching himself out with a little ‘pop.’ With the relief came a feeling of emptiness and uncertainty.

While Buddy made himself comfortable in the pillows, Guy remained upright, hemming and hawing and twisting a sheet in his hands.

“Sir?”

Buddy waved at the bed beside him, already turned on his side and facing away from Guy. Guy settled down in stages, waiting for the sudden reprimand. It never came.

The next morning he woke to a pair of pants being tossed onto his head.

“Christ, I can’t have you up and making coffee already if I beat you to the office.”

Buddy was already dressed, straightening his tie in the mirror. Guy could tell from his smirk that he’d timed it like this, so Guy would scramble, panicked, for his clothes. He made a discovery that reddened his cheeks.

Buddy notice. “What? What is it, can’t wear last night’s clothes?”

Guy held up the remains of his cheap, overworked belt. Buddy snorted an amused little laugh out his nose. He beckoned Guy closer.

“You can use mine.”

 Guy began to stammer half-objections, but caught Buddy’s look of impatience and obediently tightened it around his waist. The holes were off, either he wore it one notch too loose and it threatened to come down around his knees, or he wore it a fraction too tight and after an hour his waist throbbed in a red band that circled his middle. He idly pictured Buddy’s phantom arms squeezing him tightly and spent the rest of the day trying to banish the thought. He thought of removing it, but feared it might trigger some screed on insult from his boss.

It was almost a relief when Buddy leveled his open palm at Guy: “your belt.”

Guy quickly acquiesced, trying not to let the pleasure show in his face.

 

“What, are you Buddy’s lapdog or something?”

Dawn didn’t know how deep that question dug. She mistook Guy’s stammering uncertainty as reluctant acquiescence, when really, he _was_.

Guy thought he loved Dawn. He knew he liked her. He didn’t know if she liked him or the idea of him. And he had **no** clue, whatsoever, how he felt about Buddy.

One moment he was exploding Guy’s self-confidence, the next he was praising a script direction, running a fond hand through Guy’s hair and whispering, “Keep this up, kid, and someday it’ll be me down on my knees in front of you.”

Guy was mostly-pretty-certain about his heterosexuality before, and is mostly-pretty-uncertain about it at the moment, but he was sure of one thing: he was not in a romantic relationship with his boss. No matter your definition of “romantic.”

Buddy began to trust him, or just gave him more lead to choke himself on. Guy got used to Buddy's amused smile as he attempted to do things he had never done on his own. While their... _encounters_  never got more equalized, it did seem Buddy was easing off on Guy, joking with him, complimenting him once in a while.

Guy tried not to enjoy himself too much in these moments. He knew it wasn’t anything special, just the carrot to accompany Buddy’s oft-used stick. It was just his imagination that Buddy was being a bit nicer to him.

“Don’t fall in love,” Buddy breathed into the pillows, once.

Guy had been on the cusp of sleep, but rolled over at the sound. “What?”

Buddy opened his eyes, as if he was surprised Guy was listening. “Don’t. I mean it. It'll only bring trouble.”

Guy wasn’t sure whether Buddy meant himself or Dawn.

The next few months were a tango to conceal hickeys and love bites, of appointment fucks and spur-of-the-moment fucks and lunches and dinners and between the two of them, Guy estimated he was getting more ass than your average young upstart producer.

He got cocky.

Buddy liked him. Buddy liking you looked a lot like Buddy hating you, but there was less uphill work, less friction. He became an expert cocksucker, learned the meaning of putting on a show, and was a double agent in his private and professional life.

Dawn’s betrayal should not have hurt so much as it did, then. Or was it Buddy’s smug triumph, knowing he could take something of Guy’s without even trying. Or was it the realization that he wasn’t special among Buddy’s assistants, an epiphany that should have come a long time ago.

Armed with these confused feelings and a gun, Guy set out to make history.

He didn’t expect to come out of it feeling pity, but he did.

_“ Life is not a movie. Good guys lose, everybody lies, and love... does not conquer all.”_

As they looked at each other, Guy finally down at Buddy, Guy realized how terribly lonely power was. Something in him wanted to untie his boss, soothe the wounds he’d made, part of him wanted to rage and slap Buddy for two-timing him, or was it cuckolding him?

"I bet you didn't spend your ten years with someone's cock in your mouth," Guy spat.

Buddy's face was deadly serene. "Not always, no. And if you think  _I_ put you through the ringer, you are sorely mistaken my friend. I went easy on you."

"You dicked me and then you laughed in my face about it!"

"At least I used lube!"

The implications go off like a bomb between them. Buddy's face shuts down. Guy stammers, apologizes, he's always apologizing, it seems.

_“So before you run out and change the world, ask yourself, "What do you really want?"_

Guy wants a kiss. Guy wants revenge.

All Guy really wants is to make movies.

Dawn busts in and tells him he wants to kill Buddy. Guy’s uncertainty hits her in the chest.

Guy drops to his knees and cradles her, the beginning of a wail curdling in his throat, and Buddy gives him a heavy look. Something inside Guy pinches off, whithers. He has never understood anything so clearly.

 

Christmas at the office. _His_ office.

“Sorry,” he calls, “I have presents to wrap.”

Buddy haunts his open door, waits for Guy to enter the office before he shuts it.

And gets to his knees.


End file.
